


Systema Naturae

by mr_dr_felicia



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Bottom! Yuuri, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Frotting, M/M, Rating will change, Seke, Switching, Top Katsuki Yuuri, Vampire AU, Yuuri is a vamp, bottom! viktor, top!Viktor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-18 00:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11279628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_dr_felicia/pseuds/mr_dr_felicia
Summary: Viktor is a blood doctor with a flighty apprentice, an aloof manservant, and a poodle. One day, he finds a vampire.





	1. thirst

**Author's Note:**

> aaaa my first multi-chapter work for YOI!! updates should be fairly erratic since unlike 90% of the world, school just started where I live aaaand yeah I'm already stressed. also, this is not beta read so it'll most likely be filled with typos
> 
> pls note that unless clearly stated that they aren't, Yurio, Viktor, and Beka all speak Russian when speaking to each other since English is still their second language.

The boy had looked pitiful in the rags he’d been dressed in, but now in the pressed shirt and trousers Viktor had provided for him, he only looked emaciated.

Hollow cheeks, glassy eyes, and skin almost grey around his eyes and mouth. If Viktor hadn’t seen him tear a man’s throat out only hours earlier, he wouldn’t have believed that the boy was anywhere near dangerous.

“Can you speak English?”

A twitch, and then the boy looked up at him, brown eyes flecked with gold. He looked far from European, and the slant of his eyes meant he was probably Asian, where English was still a fairly new language. Viktor sighed.

“Y-Yes.”

The voice was only slightly accented, and as fragile as butterfly wings. Viktor beamed.

He uncapped the glass vial he’d placed atop his work desk. Bloodletting cured acne, or at least that’s what Viktor had assured the aggravating mother and her daughter from that morning. Now he had a vial-full of the young girl’s blood, and the faint scent of it made the boy grab tightly at the bedsheets.

 Viktor poured the blood into a crude servant’s cup. “I will give you this, if only you answer a few questions. Is that alright?”

A soft sound of ascent.

“What are you called?”

“Katsuki.” The boy closed his eyes tight, biting at his pale bottom lip. Viktor quietly noted the elongated and sharpened points of the boy’s canines. Or fangs, rather. “Y-Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Do you have any family, Mr. Katsuki?”

A broken sound. It was a mix of a growl and a whimper, tapering into a murmured howl.

Viktor’s smile faltered, then fell. “Here.”

Yuuri was too scared to wrap his hands around the cup, so Viktor had to tug his white-knuckled hands from where they were curled around the bedsheets and coax them around the warming surface of the cup. It was a bit difficult with the boy’s knife-sharp fingernails. But Viktor was persistent and soon the boy was clutching at the cup hard enough to leave scratches on the tin cup. “Drink.”

The first sip of fresh blood was tentative, unsure. Viktor saw the boy’s nostrils twitch as he smelled the blood, checking for toxins and surely smelling that the blood had come from a live human, not like the putrid corpses he’d previously been feeding on. His lips parted and a pink tongue darted out to lap at the blood’s surface.

A deep, rumbling hum built up in Yuuri’s chest as he drank, drinking down the blood in precise gulps. None of it spilled past his lips, and when he finally pulled his mouth away from the cup’s rim, his lips were a stark red against pale skin. The rumbling hum only grew when he dipped his fingers into the cup, smearing his fingertips with red before licking at them. He did this until the cup was clean and the only sign left of their being any blood in it at all previously was the slight tang of iron that hung heavy in the air around them.

“Thank you, Viktor.”\

“Oh?” Viktor looked down to meet Yuuri’s eyes. The boy looked away, but a prickling sense of satisfaction was already encompassing Viktor, making his fingers shake and his breath come quicker than it had earlier. “I was right then. You do know my name.”

A flush erupted over the boy’s features as he nodded, covering his cheeks and the curve of his ears. It reached down to his neck and disappeared into the collar of his shirt. The sight of it was strangely familiar to Viktor, but he shook his head and smiled softly.

“Get some rest, I will be back by morning.”

Viktor felt Yuuri’s eyes on him as he walked across his bedroom and to the door. The doorknob was cool against his skin, and Viktor turned around to see the boy looking at him warily. He smiled at him softly before opening the door and stepping out.

Yuri was waiting outside with Viktor’s personal manservant, a wrinkle worming itself between the teen’s blond brows. He reached behind Viktor and bolted the lock. “He may just murder us all in our beds. You saw what he is capable of.”

“Very unlikely. He’s much too weak.” Viktor mused, reaching into his pocket. He found only the soft caress of his jacket’s inner lining and cursed under his breath. He’d left his cigarette case on his bedside table. “Otabek, fetch my pipe. We will be in the guest bedroom.”

The stoic man excused himself and walked ahead, slipping into the corridor that lead to Viktor’s study. Yuri and Viktor headed to the second guestroom, with the first already occupied by Yuri himself. Otabek had taken to setting up the guest bed earlier and already had a fire burning cheerily in the small fireplace. “By the way, you share a name.”

The teen let out a surprised huff before sprawling on top of the freshly made bed. “He was lying, then. He doesn’t look Russian.”

“He’s Japanese, I think.” Viktor picked up the metal poker and nudged around distractedly at the logs burning on the hearth. Bright orange embers flew up each time he jabbed at a burning log. “Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Katsuki?”

Before Yuri could continue, a knock came at the door. Viktor looked up. “Come in, Otabek.”

The young man handed Viktor a pipe and a book of matches. Viktor lit up the tobacco packed into the bowl of the pipe and gave a few experimental puffs. Smoke leaked from his mouth when he spoke. “What were you saying, Yuri?”

“I’m unsure, but I think I’ve heard the name Katsuki before. Perhaps from a medical paper at school.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. If it had been from a medical paper, then he would have read it. Being a professor at London’s largest school of medicine guaranteed that he would know of any new breakthroughs in his study. He took a long drag from his pipe. “Perhaps. In any case, it is getting quite late. I think I shall retire in a bit.”

“Very well,” Yuri sighed and picked himself up from the bed, tugging on his clothes to get them sorted out. “I’ll look into his name when I get to school in a few days, but with our luck Katsuki may just climb out of the window before morning.”

 

 

* * *

 

_Blood, and the rancid smell of rotting flesh._

_It was not an unfamiliar scent to Viktor, and neither was it new to Yuri, who had been a medical student for a year now. The smell mixed with the cloying fragrance of the roses Viktor still clutched in his hands and he was lightheaded for a moment, though he was unsure what caused it._

_“I—Am I imagining this, cousin?” Yuri whispered, breathless beside Viktor._

_“I wish I could say so.” Viktor was breathless too, the air coming cold and unwelcome through his mouth as he breathed._

_Just behind the grandiose statue of a lamenting angel, a fresh grave had been dug up, shards of the wooden coffin scattered for yards around the hole. A man’s corpse had been pulled halfway out of the hole and another figure, thin and pale in the moonlight, was attached to it by the neck. Blood darkened the corpse’s resting clothes and mixed in with the old stains already on the rags the figure wore. But it was very little, since the creature’s mouth had an uncanny ability to prevent almost all the blood from dribbling past its lips._

_Viktor and his young cousin stood slack-jawed and disbelieving as they stared at the scene, something old and primal in their brains knowing that if they moved, the creature would see them. Maybe an hour passed, or maybe it was only a minute, but every second Viktor stared at the creature his feet grew heavier and heavier, like the soft grass of the graveyard was tugging him into the ground._

_A huge wind came from behind them._

_Yuri faltered and his foot slid an inch forward, but no sound left his pale lips. Viktor stiffened when the wind caught the roses he held and tore noisily through the thin paper they had been wrapped in. Their scent carried, and the creature looked up._

_Its eyes met his, and then it stood. Viktor let the bouquet fall from his grasp and his hands scrambled to find the hilt of his small snub-nosed revolver. When he pulled it out and aimed, the creature was halfway standing, the corpse left at its feet. Another wind blew just then, and a cloud over the moon moved away, moonlight flooding the graveyard. Just as the creature buckled to its knees and fell, Viktor realized that it was only a boy._

_Yuri shouted for him to come back, but it fell on deaf ears as Viktor ran like a man possessed towards the open grave. Loose dirt flew about in his wake and when he kneeled down to look at the creature’s face, wetness from the moist earth dampened the fabric of his trousers. He breathed out a shuddering sigh—somehow, the creature looked familiar to him._

_The boy was taller than Yuri, but did not look much older, with a mop of black hair and what seemed to be broken glasses peeking out from the folds of his clothes. Viktor pressed his fingers to his neck and felt for a pulse._

_“Vitya!” Yuri came to a halting stop a few yards away from the open grave. “What it the world are you doing?!”_

_A pulse, faint and barely there, beat under Viktor’s fingertips. “Flag us a cab, Yuri.”_

_“But—”_

_“This boy is alive and I am going to treat him. And I will need my tools at home.” Viktor wrenched an arm under the boy’s body and he pulled off his coat. “Flag us a cab.”_

_A short sound of assent before the teen dashed out, the thumping of his shoes echoing in the silence. Viktor glanced down at the boy and his heart almost stopped when he saw eyes looking back up at him. The boy took in a fitful breath of air. “Wha—Viktor N-Nikiforov?”_

_“Ah—” Viktor closed his eyes, remembering to answer back in English. “Yes. I am here to help you.”_

_The boy opened his mouth to say something more, but his eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness, his body going limp._

_Viktor finished pulling his coat over the boy’s shoulders and tugged him up, the weight leaning on his side alarmingly light. He placed the boy’s stick-thin arm around his shoulders and before he could think twice, toed the corpse back into the hole._

 

* * *

 

Rainy mornings were what Yuri hated most.

Back home, rain was refreshing and made the growing apples his _dedushka_ kept in the small orchard glisten with the raindrops. Rain meant muddy shoes and muddier knees whenever he played outside. Rain was a cold wind that shook the window panes and pelted a nice tune against the glass as he fell asleep.

But in London rain was wet and grey, black umbrellas and drenched petticoats. Gloomy rain puddles carried piss and vomit that had dried in alleyways and stepping in one meant you carried the stench on your socks and in your shoes for the rest of the day. And the worst part was that it was always either raining or cloudy, no matter what the season.

“Ugh, it’s freezing.” Yuri said, rubbing his hands together.

“The seasons are changing,” Otabek murmured from behind him. “You should get your winter coat mended.” He ran a brush through Yuri’s hair a few more times before using a ring with his fingers to secure the thin strands into a low ponytail. Yuri handed him a black velvet ribbon with worn edges and felt the slight tug on his scalp as his hair was tied back. Before Viktor had hired the young man, Yuri had always been able to tie back his hair himself, but now he assures himself that with Otabek helping it would look much neater than doing it himself.

Years ago his _dedushka_ had kept the ribbon as a memento of Yuri’s grandmother who’d passed away before Yuri was ever born. Now it served as a memento for them both.

Otabek put down the brush and Yuri stood up, wincing a bit when his knees ached. Otabek raised an eyebrow at him. “Your knees still hurt?”

“Mm,” Yuri sighed, tugging on the straps of his suspenders. “They’re hurting less now, I suppose.”

It had been strange, seeing his body change so rapidly over the course of one year. Yuri had been more or less small throughout his life, with a pointy chin and scrawny kid’s arms. His growth spurt made him shoot up into a gangly body with reedy legs and ugly blonde stubble. And it made him taller than Otabek, which took _a_ _lot_ of getting used to.

“Where does Mr. Nikiforov keep his blood samples?”

“What?” Yuri looked up from the slippery suit buttons he was doing up. “He keeps them in his study; he’s got an icebox there. Why do you ask?”

“Mr. Nikiforov left the house earlier and told me to feed Mr. Katsuki his breakfast.”

“That old man should feed Katsuki himself. He was the one who insisted on treating him.” The last buttons were easiest, and Yuri did them up quickly. “Come, I’m going with you.”

Viktor’s study was in the topmost floor of their house and had uneven ceilings that followed the shape of the roof. It was most likely an attic the man had repurposed, and the stairs that lead to it were rickety with age. Inside was a strange amalgamation of spick-and-span orderliness and chaos. An array of microscopes was arranged along a workbench while a filing cabinet full of patient’s files was kept securely locked against the wall. On the shelves of the small library his cousin kept were books stacked vertically and horizontally, with some of them left open on top of the shelves and growing mold across the yellow pages. One shelf even had a cherry tomato plant growing from a liquor bottle and just getting enough sunlight from the one round window in the room.

The icebox was kept under an unkempt pallet bed (Otabek had given up trying to bring up a better bed up the stairs when the moment he stepped on the old staircase with only the feather mattress, it broke under his feet) Viktor sometimes slept on during long nights of research and was cold to the touch. Once opened, Yuri could easily distinguish two large vials labeled as breakfast and lunch in Viktor’s spindly handwriting from the rest of the blood samples. Yuri poured one into a cup and beckoned for Otabek to follow.

As they were descending the stairs, Otabek spoke up. “I think he was having nightmares last night.”

Yuri turned. “How do you know? You sleep one floor down.”

“My quarters are right under Mr. Nikiforov’s bedroom,” Otabek shrugged, “I could hear the bed’s legs dragging across the floor.”

Yuri felt a little ball of what he’d never admit to be fear in his throat and didn’t reply. They reached Viktor’s bedroom down on the second floor, but when Yuri took hold of the doorknob, it was as cold as ice. He hissed, letting go just as Otabek’s hand came down on his shoulder. “What’s wrong, Yura?”

“The handle’s ice cold.” Yuri tugged out a handkerchief and wrapped his hand with it before grabbing the knob again and pushing the door open.

Frigid air leaked from the room, hitting Yuri’s face like a wintry draft through a window. He took a half-step backwards, his back colliding with Otabek’s chest. “Wha—it’s so _cold_. Did the idiot douse the fire or something?”

“Yura—”

Before Otabek could pull him away, Yuri shouldered the door open wider and stalked into the room, eyes finding the cold fireplace immediately. No candles burned, and the gas lights weren’t switched on. Another draft blew from Yuri’s side, splattering his right arm and the side of his face with ice-cold water. He whipped his head around and gaped.

Yuuri Katsuki was standing in front of the wide open windows, black hair whipping around his face as the morning downpour outside thrashed past him and into the room. The shirt he wore was drenched through and his thin frame was highlighted through the fabric by the meager light that came from the greying sky outside. When he turned, his dark eyes were large and very, very alarmed.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?!” 

The man flinched, spinning around to face Yuri and pinning himself against the window’s edge. He immediately let out a slew of words only he could understand. _“K-Kimi wa ho—hontōdesuka? Soreha d-deki—”_

With each word, Katsuki leaned back farther and farther, rain pelting against his back harshly. His hands and feet stayed grounded though, pale toes digging into the wool rug at his feet and hands grabbing onto the edge in a bloodless grip. Wanting to flee yet wanting to stay at the same time.

“W-Wait!” Yuri pitched forward, hands held up placatingly. He couldn’t see from where he was standing but knew from the angle that the wooden edge must be cutting painfully into Katsuki’s back. He looked to Otabek, who was now empty handed somehow and standing at the door, looking between the two Yu(u)ris. His next words came out more because he didn’t know what the fuck to do more than anything else. “Get new sheets for the bed, Beka. These ones are soaked.”

Without missing a beat, the man shook his head. “I’m not leaving you here, Yura.” An underlying note of threat laced his words, and Yuri felt it slice through the cold and permeate the atmosphere. Katsuki stiffened in Yuri’s peripheral vision.

“Beka—”

“I won’t.” Katsuki began, cutting Yuri off. Yuri swirled around and felt a chill not caused by the cold wind blowing through the room when he realized Katsuki’s eyes were pointed at him. “I won’t hurt you. I’m not—I’m not a monster. I’m not.”

Yuri could tell without looking that Otabek’s mind was thinking of all the possible outcomes that could happen, feel him sizing Katsuki up against the both of them if it ever came to it. Finally, he let out a breath. “Alright. I left the cup outside the door, Yura— if ever you’ll need it.”

“Thanks.”

Footsteps, first echoing down the hall, then down stairs before pattering away into nothing. Only the sound of the rain now, and the wind, whistling past Yuri’s ears. He held on to that sense of chill that brushed against his face and grounded himself. “Mr. Katsuki?”

“Yes.” Katsuki’s head bowed, and a hand came up to rub distractedly at the back of his head. “Katsuki Yuuri. Yuuri. Yes, that’s my name.”

The reply came out so fast it was more like an exhale rather than actual words. It sounded like the words had been ingrained into him. Yuri swallowed, and took another step. “You promised not to hurt me.”

“I won’t.” Katsuki repeated. His hand came back down to grab at the window’s edge again, and when he opened his mouth to speak, Yuri noticed the unnaturally sharp points of his canines. “’M not a monster.”

For a second, the image of Katsuki’s mouth latched onto a corpse’s neck flooded Yuri’s mind, the image burned into the backs of his eyes. It overlapped with Katsuki’s face now, all big eyes and fluttering black hair. Yuri closed his eyes.

“Alright, the bed is wet at the moment…” Yuri started, beckoning to the taller man. “but won’t you sit?”

A quick nod, and then Katsuki walked over to a stool that sat in front of Viktor’s table full of rather feminine lotions and creams, Yuri glad that the stool wasn’t padded and wouldn’t absorb any of the rainwater dripping from Katsuki’s clothes. He rushed to close the windows, blinking against the rain. The lock slid before clicking shut. Yuri sighed and wiped a hand over his face, dragging clumps of water-darkened blond hair from his face as he stalked over to Viktor’s Cherrywood wardrobe. 

Yuri grunted, shoving around his cousin’s numerous clothes hangers, the metal clacking against each other as he looked around. Finally, he found a threadbare coat Viktor barely used anymore and grabbed two towels from one of the shelves before closing the door. He tossed Katsuki a towel before leaning against a wooden post that jutted out from Viktor’s (unnecessarily) large four-poster bed.

While Yuri dried his hair, Katsuki remained clutching at the towel. He looked down at it like he was searching for what to say. “I’m sorry. You even got your clothes wet.”

“ _Clearly_ ,” Yuri scoffed, pulling the towel over his eyes to get right at his scalp. “And if you don’t stop staring at your towel like a fool, the cold will eat right through you.”

The realization that Yuri had inadvertently insulted a man that he _knew_ was capable of drinking blood like it was water creeped up on him slowly, but when it hit, it hit hard enough to punch the air out of his lungs. He scrambled to pull the towel out of his eyes. “W-Wait, I didn’t mean—”

But Katsuki was smiling, a weak smile that was more nostalgia-induced than from actual happiness. He seemed to realize what he was doing when Yuri gaped at him, and hastily wrapped the towel around his shoulders. “You just reminded me of…” His brows furrowed. “Someone.”

“Wha—”

“Yura.” Otabek cut him off, the question on Yuri’s tongue dissolving like bubbles in fizzy lemonade. He stood at the door, new sheets in hand and the cup of blood in one hand.

Yuri left the towel hanging over his shoulders and walked over, hands wrapping around the cool surface of the cup. Otabek’s fingers brushed against his longer than they should have, and Yuri hoped that Katsuki wouldn’t notice the slight flush on his cheeks when he turned around. He tipped his head towards the cup ever so slightly. “Your breakfast.”

Katsuki was halfway through drying his hair when he froze. His nostrils flared, barely noticeable, and he blinked rapidly.

He left the towel on the stool when he stood up to get his breakfast, his clothes still sopping and too-long trousers dragging water across the floor. Otabek walked past him with the sheets, setting the covers and duvet on a reading chair beside the four-poster before stripping off the soaked sheets. Yuri knew Katsuki could feel Beka’s eyes on the back of his head as he took the cup from Yuri, and was almost impressed at how the man was able to keep from reacting to it.

Yuri watched as Katsuki ate (or drank, really) the contents of the cup.

It reminded him of how Potya purred when she got a saucer of cream. Katsuki purred, and it would seem like a growl if it wasn’t for the non-aggressive nature of it. The sound grew in volume and in intensity, the vibrations buzzing in Yuri’s fingertips. It was loudest when he finally tipped back the cup and still no red flooded past his lips and gradually softened into a whimper. He held the cup with a loose one-handed grip.

“Done?” Yuri questioned, extending a hand for the cup.

Katsuki whimpered again, so soft that it almost went unnoticed by Yuri. He kept looking down at the cup, at the red still glistening on the inside.

Otabek cleared his throat before Katsuki could do more than open his mouth. “I’ll fetch him a spoon.”

Yuri met the older boy’s eyes. He had no idea what Beka meant, but it seemed to have a good effect on Katsuki, because the man had torn his gaze away from the cup to stare back at Otabek. His peculiar little smile was back again. “Thank you.”

The smile stayed on the man’s face while Otabek bundled up the old covers and walked out of the room. Katsuki was just the littlest bit taller than him, and when he looked down to meet Yuri’s gaze he seemed to shrink, his back curving and smile faltering just a bit. Yuri frowned.

He’d studied ballet under Viktor’s old tutor after moving in years ago, and he fought the urge to smack Katsuki’s back at the sight of his terrible posture. He settled on firmly nudging the man’s shoulder. “Stand straight or else you’ll get a crooked back.”

“Oh, right.” The smile on Katsuki’s face relaxed as he straightened his back, his spine popping as he rolled his shoulders a few times. “I’d almost forgotten.” He laughed a little, and his smile turned bashful. Yuri swallowed down his astonishment at the sight and listened as the man continued to talk. “ _Sensei_ would be so mad at me, but it has been a few years since…”

Silence. Katsuki still had a smile on his face, but it was stiff, his eyebrows drawing together as if in thought while the rest of his face remained the same. “Huh.”

“Mr. Katsuki?”

“A-Ah, pardon me.” Katsuki shook his head and the thoughtful wrinkle between his brows smoothed out. He looked down at the cup in his hand and opened his mouth, speaking very slowly. “You don’t need to worry about me. My health really relies on my, um, diet…so the cold won’t affect me.”

“W-Wait.” Yuri gaped, not caring how his voice broke over the words. “Are you saying you don’t fall ill?”

“I o-only feel poorly when I don’t get to—erm. Otherwise my body feels normal.”

Yuri had tons worth of questions brimming behind his lips, but he pinched the tight, sealing away the questions for later. Instead, he reached out a hand and looked at Katsuki straight in the eye. “I haven’t introduced myself yet. I am Yuri Plisetsky, Viktor’s cousin.”

The hand that touched Yuri’s was cold, and somehow reminded him of Viktor. “Yuuri Katsuki.”

 

* * *

 

“ _You told him your nickname?_ And _allowed_ him to use it?”  

Yuri growled. “Shut up. It’s not like I can go around calling him vampire around the house.”

“Mr. Katsuki would have been fine.” Viktor mused, a smirk pulling at his features. “Or are you already accustomed to the fact that we have a new addition to the family?”

“Whatever.” Yuri, or Yurio as he had been called back in his old village, shook his head and scratched distractedly at his cat Potya’s ears. Viktor knew the scowl the young boy was sporting was a half-act, as already it was melting away as he looked curiously at the wrapped package Viktor held. “What is it that you bought?”

“Our guest seems to have owned a pair of glasses.” Viktor pulled out the old pair from his coat and let Yurio examine it. “I couldn’t bring him to Christophe to get his eyes properly checked, but I have a standard issue pair of spectacles that I think should work for the time being.”

The boy handed him back the glasses, tutting as he finally let go of Potya. The cat landed onto the tiled floor as daintily as a dancer, much like her owner. Viktor bent down to unhook the leash from around Makkachin’s neck too, since the dog had been looking up at him through their whole exchange, pleading with her huge poodle eyes to be set free to roam around the house. Yurio watched as the two trotted happily into the parlor before tugging on Viktor’s coat sleeve. “Off. I’ll have Otabek dry it out.”

“Hm, what a kind offer. May I ask why you’re offering?” Viktor asked as he shrugged out of his coat. The teen crudely draped it over his shoulder before flicking a lock of slightly damp hair from his forehead.

“I know you want to go see Katsuki, and he’s up in your room, so with you _both_ there no one will be around to bother me.”

“Ah, you’re growing up smarter and smarter by the day, cousin!” Viktor rolled up the thin leather leash he held in his gloved hands before slapping them into Yurio’s. He could hear the muffled curses coming from his cousin’s mouth as he bounded up the stairs, new glasses for his mystery guest named Yuuri by his side.

His bedroom was a touch chillier than he liked to have it, and Viktor would have been bothered were it not for the fact that Yuuri was currently standing by the lone shelf of his most favorite books, scrutinizing each title. Viktor could see that the man _did_ need glasses, since he squinted and blinked as he fingered the worn spines and tried to read the swopping golden letting of their titles. Viktor knew he wouldn’t understand almost half of the tomes in that shelf, since most of them were in Russian. He cleared his throat. “Yuuri?”

The young man turned around to look at him, cheeks coloring. “Viktor—!”

Viktor paused. He had to remind himself that this boy was the very same creature he’d seen drinking blood from a rotting cadaver last night and not just a _very_ pretty face. Curiously, color had filled Yuuri’s previously ash-tinged skin, turning it into a warm tan that glowed perfectly under his flush. His frame was still slight, but his cheeks looked fuller already, plush pink lips chapped and currently pursed with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, um, I just didn’t have anything to do—”

“I-It’s fine, really!” Viktor snapped himself free of those thoughts, smiling easily. “I’d love it if you could read some of them, then I could finally talk about them with another person.”

“Actually…” Yuuri trailed off, looking down at one of the books, a finger running down the cover. It’s old, the rich turquoise leather webbed with white creases all over its surface. A simple black leather panel sown into the spine is embossed with golden letters that spell out the book’s title in Cyrillic. Viktor instantly remembers it as one of the stranger books he’d read through the years, filled with talking cats and floating islands connected by broken asteroids. It had a sparkling quality to it that made it feel dreamlike yet so relatable all the same, the heroine’s struggle striking a chord within Viktor’s teenaged mind at the time. It was also one of the few books that had been translated into English. He found himself smiling wider, reaching over to hook a finger into the space between the shelf and the top of the book to pull it out.

Yuuri huffed out a laugh. “I-I don’t know. This book just feels so _familiar_ to me, even though I’m certain I’ve never seen it before.”

“It would probably do you well to read it again.” Viktor handed the book over to the younger man before pulling out the package. “And you won’t be able to do that without glasses, correct?”

“ _Oh,”_ Yuuri breathed, coloring again before accepting the package. “You didn’t have to, Viktor—”

“I wanted to. So you can read whatever you like.” Viktor said, biting his lip to keep from smiling too excitedly as Yuuri tucked the book under his arm and ripped delicately at the paper wrapping. He glanced briefly at the bookshielf again as Yuuri took out his new glasses and spotted a few more risqué titles. He felt himself color a bit. “We-Well, maybe not everything on this shelf. Some I haven’t even allowed Yurio to read.”

Yuuri’s laugh was surprising, lilting and somehow funny-sounding all on its own. Yet it suited him; Viktor soon realized the fact as he turned to look at the boy again. He was giggling, flush high on his cheeks, glasses perched on his nose. “Believe me, I’m a _lot_ older than I look.”

 _“Twenty-four, to be exact.”_ A voice continued in Viktor’s head, rising up from his memories to the forefront of his mind. The voice was more playful and had a bit of slur to it compared to Yuuri’s, but just remembering it set a whole slew of memories going through Viktor’s head.

Back in the present, Viktor excused himself, with a murmur of _lunch_ and _to please come along downstairs in a few minutes_ leaving his mouth like an afterthought as he stepped out. Once outside, memories of the banquet resurfaced along with the face of the man Viktor had daydreamed about since meeting him months ago, the man’s name tossed away with most of what had happened that night.

But with Yuuri looking healthier and healthier the more blood he consumed, his resemblance to the mystery man in Viktor’s memories increased.  

 


	2. waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Viktor's mystery man, and find out the origins of Yuuri's amnesia and hematophagy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't feeling really good about this chapter, until @Wat_choo_want beta-read it for me. You're da best Sam!! And thanks to @pettyfangirlaf for reading all the smutty parts to make sure they were spicy enough and to my dog for keeping me company while I wrote this fic on my living room couch
> 
> anywho, we begin this story with a flashback!

Oxford, 1885

_Viktor liked men._

_He always had, ever since he was a child and wore a frock identical to his female cousins. He wore his pretty lace frocks until much later than what was appropriate for a boy, but his mother had always indulged him, and his father was always away to Africa or India so no one but the snoopy neighbors or the servants ever complained. He only stopped when his father came home from a jaunt in Egypt to find him with ribbons in his hair and a mint green dress buttoned up to his chin._

_Now he wore starched shirts and waistcoats, but his inclination to the same sex had never faltered nor faded. Even sleeping with a woman once in his eighteenth year had only solidified the fact._

_Luckily, he was far from alone. Attending an all-boy’s boarding school proved that, and now, standing here in a grand ballroom filled with men all sharing his particular_ preference _filled him with a feeling of contentment. He hummed slightly and sipped from his flute of champagne._

_“Viktor,” a familiar voice called from behind him, and before Viktor could turn around an arm slung itself around his shoulders. Christophe, an old friend of his from Eton college and host of this party, pressed an alcohol-scented kiss to the side of his face. “So glad you could come,_ mon’amie. _”_

_“I would come to visit every week if only you lived a little closer, Chris.” Viktor said. “Why not open an office in London?”_

_“That’s what I wanted to tell you!” Chris tittered, fingers dancing over the delicate blooms that circled Viktor’s head. “I’m moving to Paris! The people in Oxford are starting to bore me, and I would never miss the opportunity to see the unveiling of the Eiffel tower. I want to see if it is as hideous as the people say.”_

_Viktor pouted. “And where does that leave me? Poor old Vitya with no friends.”_

_Chris rolled his eyes before plucking Viktor’s flute of champagne out of his hand and calling over one of the servers. He switched out Viktor’s half-empty glass for a wider brimmed coupe glass filled with alarmingly green liquid. Viktor eyed the absinthe warily until Chris sighed and thrust it into his hands. “One glass won’t kill you, Vitya.”_

_The absinthe burned down Viktor’s throat, and made his limbs feel loose and soft like bread dough. He let Christophe drag him around the party, introducing him to men of all shapes and sizes, some more flamboyant than his friend in gaudy feathered costumes and others so somber and silent even Chris had a hard time talking to them._

_“This is proving to be quite fruitless.”_

_Viktor sighed. He was well into his second glass of champagne after he’d downed the absinthe, and a calm haze was starting to take over his faculties. He and Christophe had long since sat back into one of the rich red velvet chaise lounge and were looking at the party unfold._

_Somehow, women had filtered in, but they were creatures of their own. Most of them wore men’s clothes and the few that didn’t were in loose-fitting dresses without corsets that twirled airily across the tiled floor. It reminded him idly of Greek goddesses he’d seen illustrated in books from his childhood._

_When Viktor looked at them curiously he caught an eyeful of two ladies, one with tight curls of red hair and the other with flowing black locks, emerging from the calm sway of a waltz to dance together in the center of the crowd. They made quite a pair, the redheaded girl in a mauve muslin dress leading a dark-skinned woman sporting skinny men’s trousers and a billowing shirt through the steps of a complicated Argentinian tango._

_He smiled as the crowd of dancers cheered them on._

_As his eyes followed their lilting movement, a flash of black caught his attention. Viktor blinked, leaning forward in his seat and coloring. He felt the flush reaching his ears when he saw the boy’s face. “Who is he?”_

_“Who?” Chris moved forward, following Viktor’s gaze to finally see the man he was pointing at. He hummed before propping his chin onto Viktor’s shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know his name. I don’t think he’s from London, though.”_

_“He’s quite young.”_

_“Mm,” Chris snickered and took a sip from his own glass. “Beautiful, you mean? Go talk to him.”_

_Right at that moment, the beautiful boy standing across from them turned and met Viktor’s eye. He looked alarmed for a moment, before smiling and raising his glass slightly in greeting. Even from that distance, Viktor saw the tip of the man’s tongue wet his lips._

_Chris whistled suggestively behind him as he walked the edge of the hall, squeezing in among the other guests._

_The closer he got, the more the boy’s beauty struck him. Imperiously high cheekbones but soft peach-colored cheeks, slanted eyes with curling eyelashes darker than kohl, and tan skin that looked golden in the dimmed gaslights and candles. His dark hair was pushed back and reflected the golden light while a pair of wirerimmed spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose. The boy wore a simple suit but left three buttons of his shirt open, revealing his collar bones. A choker made beautiful with its simplicity and blood-red color circled his neck._

_“Hello there.” Viktor sidled up next to him, smile pulling at his lips when the boy looked up to meet his gaze. “Would you like to dance?”_

_“Hello.” The boy greeted back, a cute accent to his voice. His eyes turned sly for a moment when he answered. “And I would love to, if I get to lead.”_

_Viktor made a good dancer, in his own opinion. He’d taken up lessons with Miss Baranovskaya for here winters in his youth so a simple waltz or mazurka was something he knew like the back of his hand, even when he was led by a man much shorter than he was. But soon enough a waltz turned into polka, and a second later Viktor had switched partners with one of the dancing women, the redhead leading him around for half of a tango before switching back. By then the young stranger’s hair had shifted to fall over his forehead in soft waves of black that whipped around each time Viktor led him into a tight spin._

_The boy wasn’t just breathtakingly attractive, but also a great dancer, Viktor noticed. His body moved to the music as if he were one with it._

_Viktor found himself laughing as they danced, the mere heat of another person’s body next to his and the stranger’s smile more intoxicating than the alcohol currently running through his bloodstream._

_They were both breathless after a few rounds of galloping along the length of the ballroom with other couples and Viktor pulled them both to the side of the hall to catch their breath. The boy leaned against his side and laughed breathlessly, half-lidded eyes alluring as they met Viktor’s. He reached up and adjusted the crown of flowers Viktor had forgotten were perched still on his head. “Green carnations?”_

_“It seemed appropriate, don’t you think?” Viktor grinned._

_“Of course. It’s very beautiful, Mr. Nikiforov.”_

_Viktor felt his eyes widen. He was fairly certain he hadn’t been able to tell the stranger his name yet. “You know me?”_

_“O-Oh,” In a moment the stranger’s previous confidence flickered into a flush of embarrassment. “A studying hematologist should know the name of the man who made it possible to distinguish different blood cells.”_

_Viktor gaped. “Tell me you are joking! You don’t look old enough to be reading my boring old research papers.”_

_“I did more than just read them; I actually sat in on a lecture of yours once at the University of Oxford.” The stranger smiled, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m a lot older than I look. Twenty-four, to be exact.”_

* * *

 

 

_Yuuri couldn’t believe it._

_He clutched at the slip of paper in his fist, a lump in is throat as he looked up at the taller man. “See you tomorrow?”_

_“Definitely.” Viktor smiled, blue eyes twinkling. Yuuri felt the arm entwined with his own loosen as Viktor pulled away and he fought the urge to tighten his hold. Viktor’s hotel was right across the street, its powder blue and white façade lit up with pale gaslights that reflected off the older man’s silver hair. It was surely a miracle that Yuuri had even gotten the chance to talk to the doctor he’d based most of his college thesis material on, not to mention_ dance _with him. He knew Christophe had friends in high places, but never in his wildest dreams would he have guessed he’d be able to see a side of the genius Nikiforov so far from his professional personality at one of the Swiss man’s parties._

_A rustle and abrupt weight on his head made Yuuri look up, train of thought coming to a screeching halt. Dyed petals fluttered against his forehead._

_“They look very good on you.” Viktor pressed a champagne-sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good night.”_

_“G-Good night.” Yuuri stuttered out, a hand coming up to hold down the wreath of green carnations as nippy night air tugged on his clothes. He stared at Viktor’s bright silhouette as the man crossed the street. When he made it to the front door of his hotel, he whirled around and waved._

_Yuuri grinned despite himself._

_Viktor was surely as drunk as he was, but somehow the man still looked ethereal, silver fringe blowing in the wind and heart-shaped smile unwavering. The spring green brocade waistcoat he’d worn under his formal suit shimmered in the glare of the gaslights, pink threads that formed the embroidered peonies on the fabric shiny as he turned to walk through the doors. Yuuri let his arm fall back to his side and muffled a giddy laugh into his elbow._

_The slip of paper Viktor had given him was still in his fist, the scribbled address of the hematologist’s favorite café in all of Oxford and the time they were to meet tomorrow burning marks into the skin of Yuuri’s palm as he walked home._

_He turned into the cramped alleyway that lead to his shared apartments with thoughts of what to wear tomorrow._

_Viktor had planned their rendezvous for the afternoon to account for their hangovers, so that left Yuuri a whole morning to dry out a shirt and a pair of trousers if he managed to get them washed and hung up before he fell asleep. He could always ask Phichit for help but his roommate seemed to sleep more and more each night. Studying taxonomy and working two jobs at the same time would be taxing for anyone._

_A crash snapped Yuuri out of his thoughts._

_“Help me.”_

_“Wha—Who said that?” Yuuri whirled around, fist slipping the piece of paper into his waistcoat’s pocket._

_“I’m ailing.” The voice continued, unrecognizable but distinctly feminine. “I feel like I am about to die.”_

_Yuuri’s chest squeezed. “I-I am doctor. Let me help you.”_

_A woman emerged from the other end of the alleyway, olive green smock stained and auburn hair spilling from its tight chignon. Yuuri squinted in the dark, recognizing it as one of their neighbors. He almost melted with relief and held out a hand towards the familiar face. “Mrs. Cuthbert? What a change, isn’t it usually your girl Rebecca getting sick? Come on in, I am certain I have enough medicine to spare.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“Hm?”_

_Mrs. Cuthbert lunged without warning, toppling Yuuri over, the back of his head smacking painfully against the cobblestones. Yuuri gasped at the pain and stars burst behind his eyes, auburn hair tickling his face as struggled against the older woman. Her breath was cold and smelled of candied fruit. “I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, but I have children to feed.”_

_Yuuri screamed, but she had a hand clamped over his mouth and nose in a second. He felt his legs flailing and he_ knew _he managed to land a few kicks to the woman’s haunches and belly, but she seemed not to feel them, her grip unwavering. A noise akin to a pained howl rumbled out of her when she opened her mouth._

_“Find it in your heart to forgive me.”_

_Fangs glinted in the scarce light, and with the last shreds of Yuuri’s breath, he remained conscious long enough to see pale yellow liquid drip from the woman’s fangs._

_As his world faded to black, Yuuri felt a searing pain erupt across his neck, a faint snap coming from the choker he had around his neck as it ripped in half under the point of the woman’s teeth. The ache from his neck bled into his whole body, darkness washing over him just as the pain started to burn at his fingertips._

_Yuuri fainted._

 

* * *

London, 1886

“What was this called, again?”

“Chazuke.”

“Hm,” Yuri fished out a cube of cured pork and popped it into his mouth. The steaming tea softened it and washed away most of its saltiness, instead infusing the oolong tea with its savory taste. “It’s very good.”

Katsuki chuckled. “It was lucky you had rice in the pantry.”

“Beka likes to make rice pudding late at night.” Yuri supplied. “Calms him down.”

“We have something alike, then.”

Eating a vampire’s cooking wasn’t the last thing Yuri had imagined doing on his weekends off from school, but that was only because he’d never even thought it possible. He was loathe to admit it, but Viktor had been right. A month into the vampire’s (they were all wavering on that title, since Yuuri didn’t seem to show any other signs of being the supernatural creature save for his unnatural blood consumption) arrival found the bumbling man somehow slipping into place in their already less-than-average household.

And for some reason, Katsuki’s inclination towards blood wasn’t the only surprising thing about him.

One was that he liked to cook, and knew an array of exotic dishes none of them had ever tasted before. He first started going into the pantry and looking over the ingredients with an unusual expression on his face until Otabek finally handed him a whisk one morning and asked if he could help prepare breakfast. Now whenever the man cooked he had a wistful look on his face.

Katsuki admitted that he could eat normal food the night he made them a dinner of pork cutlet bowls and he made one for himself, but only human blood could ever satisfy his hunger. As such he preferred only eating blood for his meals, which Yuri could at least understand, since eating something that would never be truly satisfying anymore doubtlessly did more damage than return a shred of normalcy to his life.

Yuri let Katsuki pile up his dishes along with the cup he drank blood from, his movements precise and practiced like some sort of dance. When the man (he was also much closer to Viktor’s age than Yuri could have guessed) walked into the kitchen to deposit the dishes into the sink, Yuri followed behind him, looking over Katsuki’s shoulder at the kitchen counter.

“Are you making lemon tarts?”

“Mhm, it’ll be for your afternoon tea tomorrow. I already had Otabek buy lemons while he was out.”

Yuri tapped on the glass lid of the container that held the white sugar, his nail hitting the glass with a clean clicking sound. “Save a few for me, I’ll be busy tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

The second thing had been obvious at first, which was that Katsuki was quiet by nature. His large brown eyes spoke volumes for him, but usually he kept them downcast or by some miracle had light reflecting off the lens of his spectacles, which obscured his eyes with white reflection. But his silence reached farther than just plain tight-lipped muteness.

Viktor was often home late on most nights, and Yuri had always been asleep before he would arrive, but one night he had stepped out to fetch a tin of biscuits from the pantry just in time to see Viktor close the front door behind him before leaning against it. He was at the head of the stairs, looking down at his older cousin with sleep-heavy eyes. He was talking himself into possibly sharing the biscuits with the older man if he _had_ to, when movement caught his eye.

Yuuri Katsuki got up from where he had been hours before, book in hand closing gently. He walked over to where Viktor was still leaning against the door. Yuri hadn’t even seen him through the shadows of the parlor.

A second later, Katsuki had his arms around Viktor’s middle. A pin could fall, and Yuri would have been able to hear it hitting the floor in the stiff silence.

No words were shared between them, and Yuri’s eyes widened when his cousin’s arms limply wrapped around Katsuki’s shoulders. Their shadowy figures melded into one in the darkness. Yuri slipped back into his room that night, biscuits and his strange hunger patterns forgotten.

“I have ballet classes every few weeks.” Yuri admitted, suddenly feeling like Viktor possibly had on that night. No one but the people he lived with knew he practiced dance, but Katsuki’s patient and doe-eyed stare made him itch to tell the man everything. It was like his silence _demanded_ to be filled. “I used to have them every day, but school has been keeping me quite occupied.”

Katsuki smiled. “It tells, you stand and walk just like a danseur.”

Yuri felt the warm flush race across his cheeks even as he grinned smugly.

 

* * *

 

Viktor’s bedroom windows were always closed.

Even with winter steadily arriving in cold gusts of wind and grey skies, the large windows downstairs were always open at high noon if the weather allowed it, and Yuuri had caught Yurio dozing beside an open window in the parlor. The only time he’d seen Viktor’s windows open was when he’d opened them himself.

He had wanted to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Yuuri could still remember how loud the metal hingers creaked when he pushed the windows open, like they’d never been opened before. When Yurio had come in bearing his meal, seeing the young boy’s nervous stance assured him that _this_ was real.

_This_ being that he’d found Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuuri didn’t know what to expect from the man, the year he’d spent bouncing from the streets to the few homes that would give him board and shelter for a few days slowly wearing away at the mental image of Viktor his amnesia allowed him to keep. By the time Viktor found _him_ in the cemetery all he could remember about the older man was his head of silver hair.

Speaking of silver, Yuuri looked up from Marquis de Sade’s _Juliette_ and let his eyes wander to the other side of Viktor’s bedroom. In the corner of darkness Yuuri’s oil lamp couldn’t lighten from this distance, only Viktor’s hair shone amongst the paleness of his skin and the bedcovers. It had been at his request that Yuuri stay in his bedroom to read. Yuuri knew it was because the older man had trouble falling asleep.

He twisted the oil lamp’s handle until it’s yellow light was switched off completely, dipping the room in darkness again. Yuuri shut the book, slipping it back into the Viktor’s bookshelf. He shuffled across the floor to the window in his socked feet and looked at the set of apartments across from Viktor’s house. With the gaslights switched off for the night, all he could see was the reflection of the moon in their window panes.

“Leaving already?”

Yuuri pressed his forehead to the glass of the window pane, closing his eyes. He shook his head.

“Come here, then.”

It wasn’t the first time Viktor had requested Yuuri sleep with him. But it was the first time Yuuri actually agreed.

Viktor’s large brown poodle stirred at the man’s feet when Yuuri pressed a knee into the mattress, slipping his glasses off and placing them on the man’s bedside table. Viktor didn’t bother masking his approval, a childish smile lighting up his face as he scooted to the side.

The sheets were warm with Viktor’s body heat, and when Yuuri lay his head down on the feather pillow, Viktor hugged him closer. “Viktor—”

“It’s the first time you’ve agreed to sleep beside me. Why the change of heart?”

Yuuri felt Viktor’s eyes on him and hid his blushing face in the man’s neck. He could smell the blood beneath his pale skin. “Were we lovers?”

It had been a month. Yuuri had planned on asking the man called Viktor Nikiforov (the only thing besides his own name he could seem to remember) who he had been before he lost his memory. But something had stopped him, the heat of the fire and the warmth of Viktor’s smile making him silent. It felt nice, living like he wasn’t a monster and eating blood that didn’t smell rancid and didn’t taste like garbage in his mouth. He’d even thought that maybe Viktor didn’t know him after all, the man did look at him with a strange expression sometimes, but when Yuuri had told him his name Viktor hadn’t reacted. Yuuri had played with the idea that he could continue to live on like this, beside Viktor.

But Yuuri knew it wouldn’t last forever, and seeing Viktor’s hopeful smile earlier as he practiced a pirouette solidified it in his mind. He had to remember.

The warmth of Viktor’s body made Yuuri even more flustered, the growing silence like a gnawing pit in his stomach. He’d made a mistake, asking that question. He’d made a mistake, and now Viktor was going to hate him. Yuuri thrust his face against the space between Viktor’s shoulder and neck harder and bit his lip.

“Would you like for us to have been lovers?’

Before Yuuri could react, Viktor pulled away, the arm he had used previously to lock Yuuri’s body against his holding him an arm’s length away. Yuuri gasped and didn’t have a split second to look down, meeting the older man’s cyan eyes.

“Because I wouldn’t mind being lovers with you, Yuuri.”

“Really?”

Viktor giggled, like Yuuri had said the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Really.”

Yuuri kissed him first, a single rush of adrenaline making him surge forward to press their lips together. It was far gentler than Yuuri would have expected, Viktor’s lips soft and pliant over his. When Yuuri opened his mouth to nip at the older man’s bottom lip, Viktor gasped, a delicate shudder rattling through his lean body. He pulled back. “Yuuri, that’s cheating.”

“Hm?” Yuuri smiled against his lips, feeling Viktor pout against him. He pulled the man’s full bottom lip into his mouth and sucked.

“Ah— _Yuuri._ ” The arms Viktor had loosely wrapped around him tightened, pulling Yuuri up until he was sprawled on top of Viktor, their chests flush together. They kissed languidly, a haziness akin to sleep but infused with sensuality filling the air they breathed. Yuuri’s lips were aching and tender by the time he finally pulled away, placing his cheek up against Viktor’s shoulder.

Skin peeked from the collar of Viktor’s long nightshirt, cool against Yuuri’s cheek for a few moments before Yuuri pulled away. He kissed at the pale skin, little pecks that had no real meaning to them. Viktor sighed prettily under his ministrations, light eyelashes fluttering against his pink cheeks. Yuuri smiled a bit and instead of kissing, sucked harshly at the soft spot between his neck and shoulder, a mark rising just where Viktor would be able to hide it.

Viktor gasped, a breathy moan fluttering against Yuuri’s ear. “Yuuri, I—”

“More?”

“ _Please_.”

Yuuri met his lips again, this time harsher, his fingers scrambling over Viktor’s clothed sides and feeling Viktor tug impatiently at the shirt he still had tucked into his trousers. Yuuri hadn’t planned on sleeping with Viktor when he’d come into his room, and still wore his shirt and trousers from the morning before. His waistcoat luckily left back in the guest bedroom he’d insisted he slept in instead of staying in Viktor’s room like the first night.

He sat up, slipping his arms out of his suspenders and leaving them dangling around his waist.

Viktor leaned up onto his elbows and had his hands all over Yuuri’s chest in moments, his nose buried in the crook of Yuuri’s neck as he worked his shirt open. It was difficult to get Viktor out of his nightshirt, thin as its material was, it was long, the hem reaching well past his knees. Yuuri bunched up the light material in his fists, moving about to get it well off the man’s frame.

Yuuri moaned when he sat back, accidentally rubbing his clothed crotch to the hardness between Viktor’s legs. The sound was tinged with surprise, as was Viktor’s groan, the older man forgetting Yuuri’s buttons and instead wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s middle. He crossed them against Yuuri’s back and ground his erection up.

“ _Ahh_ —” Yuuri grabbed a fistful of Viktor’s hair and tipped the man’s head back, muffling his cries into his mouth. “Ngh, let me touch you, Viktor.”

His fingers fumbled more than he would have liked, but Yuuri managed to undo the zip of his trousers and tugged enough of Viktor’s night shirt to expose the man’s lap and his unclothed cock. Its tip was already shiny with pre-ejaculate, and Yuuri rubbed his thumb over the head, spreading the wetness down Viktor’s shaft as he worked to get his own dick out of his pants.

He was only half-hard, his cock heavy and a bit soft in his grip when he brought it up to brush against Viktor’s. They both moaned at the feeling. It was like an electric shock, and Yuuri spasmed harshly even as he met Viktor’s half-lidded gaze.

The feeling of Yuuri’s cock hardening against Viktor’s was almost as good as an orgasm, every shudder and spasm that went through Viktor’s body bouncing back to Yuuri’s. He couldn’t wrap his fingers around both of them, his free hand grabbing at the fabric at Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor had somehow managed to get his shirt untucked, and had fingers tweaking at his nipple while the other kept a tight hold of his hip.

“Harder, _ah,_ Yuuri.” Viktor whined in the back of his throat when Yuuri twisted his wrist, grinding the tips of their cocks together harshly. “— _harder._ ”

Yuuri let go of Viktor’s fingers and used both of his hands to jerk them off, the warm tunnel his fingers made moist with their precum. Viktor’s breathing grew higher and higher pitched, the light tugs on his nipples becoming harder pinches the closer Viktor got to orgasm.

They muffled their moans against each other’s necks when they came, Viktor’s high whine mingling with the breathy cries Yuuri let out. Hot cum coated Yuuri’s fingers, a few spurts sticking to their chests.

“ _Udivitel'nyy, Yuuri_.” Viktor murmured.

They crashed back onto the sheets, Yuuri rolling off Viktor, boneless and terribly happy. He finished pulling off his shirt and used it to wipe the spunk off his hands and their chests, deciding that it was already soaked through with sweat anyways.

When he laid his head back onto the bed, Viktor was already asleep. He had wanted to know what Viktor had said earlier, but he liked the sound of Viktor’s voice when he spoke Russian anyway, he certainly hadn’t heard it often since he’d arrived and everyone in the household took to speaking English for his sake. And he really couldn’t bring himself to care when he was warm and filled with post-orgasmic happiness.

..

_Oxford, 1885_

Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki. That is my name.

_Yuuri blinked open his eyes. His back was wet, and a terrible soreness overtook one side of his neck and the back of his head ached. He cried out when a finger probed at the wound on his neck._

_Tall red brick buildings stood on either side of him, clotheslines strung up between them. The sour smell of waste thrown over the cobblestones infused the stale dawn air. Yuuri didn’t know where he was._ Why can’t I remember anything?

_“My name is Yuuri,” Yuuri said, repeating the mantra that ran on in his head. He groaned as he picked himself up. “Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri. I’m from—”_

_As he spoke he had also been digging around in his pockets for anything to tell him what he had been doing before he had blacked out, and when he felt around his waistcoat’s pockets a slip of paper met his fingertips. An address was written on the paper._

_There was no name, but the writer left their initials on the corner of the page— V.N._

Viktor Nikiforov _, his brain supplied._ Discovered hematological straining. A great dancer.

_A migraine cracked through Yuuri’s head. He clutched at it, swallowing back a cry._

_But as he suffered, the smell of food wafted past his nose. Yuuri’s head snapped down and saw blood smeared all over his fingers from where they’d touched his wound. His lip trembled._

_“Mm.”_

_Yuuri closed his eyes, mouth salivating as he stuck his fingers into his mouth. He suckled on them until they were clean and the migraine was gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow my ig @mr_dr_felicia and my tumblr @mr-doctor-felica for fanart I either reblog or make myself :D 
> 
> next up: some ballet, and a visit to the graveyard

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos feed my soul and make me write faster so pls leave me some!
> 
>  
> 
> and thanks to my friend Julia aka @pettyfangirlaf for the title!!


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